Festival Night
by Vaysh11
Summary: Scorpius is getting married, and Albus Severus is the best man. At the wedding, Draco is feeling old and maudlin, watching his son take this huge step, so he goes off for a walk in the Manor gardens. Albus Severus follows him. Part 1 of the "Festival Night"-Series.


**Festival Night**

There was pink-coloured blancmange. There was lattice-topped blackberry cobbler. There was a delicious lemon meringue pie. Draco was helping himself to his third piece.

Sitting by himself in the shadows at the top end of the long table, he could watch the outdoor dance-floor without people seeing him. Without people seeing him indulge in one of the few pleasures left to him: elf-baked cakes that had his mouth watering at the oddest of times. It would come over him in the potion lab, or in the evenings when he was alone, reading or staring from his window over the dark expanse of the Malfoy Estate. Or now, as he sat all by himself, an outsider at a party of strangers. Astoria had long deserted her place at his side and was dancing with her new husband, a potion supplier from the Continent. Mother had retired for the night. Scorpius was out on the dance floor, too, twirling Lily Potter in his arms. Lily _Malfoy_, Draco should say – all white lace and short auburn hair and a light in her eyes that spoke of a happiness Draco was sure he'd never known.

He put a forkful of the lemon filling in his mouth and practically moaned with pleasure. The sweet zingy taste filled him as something warm spiked through his body. Draco was full but he still felt... hungry, craving sugar. He broke off another piece with the fork. The buttery deliciousness of the crust melted on his tongue and he closed his eyes to savour the taste. There was no way the house-elves could create culinary wonders like this pie without the aid of wizarding magic. His left hand found its place on top of his belly, lying there heavy and reassuring.

A crack from the bushes startled him out of his quiet feasting. He righted himself quickly and shoved the plate away. With a clink, the fork fell to the floor. Draco bowed down, or tried to with his full belly painfully in the way, searching for the silver utensil in the dark. A surreptitious glance to the bushes showed him nobody was there. One of peacocks then, most likely, drawn close by the light and the smell of food. He found the bloody fork and sat upright again with a groan.

Pansy had been eyeing him earlier during the wedding ceremonies, with a pointed look at his protruding middle. Never one to keep her mouth shut, she had more than once told him to get back into shape. Draco had tried, he honestly had, taken up a bit of Quidditch even and not only because of Pansy and the harem of good-looking men at her side. A harem from which Draco had been ousted as soon as he'd started to gain weight and settled into a stout middle-aged figure with his hair thinning at the temples. He'd laughed her off, still did, even when it hurt to admit how superficial his friends were. Losing Blaise had hurt much more. Even now, in a life-long habit as instinctual as the need for food, Draco scanned the dancers for Blaise's muscular, dark shape.

And there he was, right in the middle of it, dancing with a bloke who was entirely too good-looking for Draco's tastes. Draco didn't know him, had never seen the man. A friend of the Potters, then, probably related to the Weasels or to the girl – his smart, polite, his beautiful daughter-in-law. Draco didn't want to feel it, this bitterness that crept up from his stomach. But there was no denying that he envied this man his place at Blaise's side, the easiness of their laughter, their touches. It had been ages since anyone had touched Draco with such natural ease.

He sighed and stared at the plate with the half-eaten pie. Pansy was right. He should get up, talk, dance – whatever. Not sit in the dark and add even more pounds to the paunch he'd been gaining these last years. He should take up flying again, something. But then he was spending his days in the Ministry labs, stirring potions clockwise and counter-clockwise, waiting and taking notes and more waiting and more notes. There was never time for joining the Ministry's Quidditch team. Looking over at Potter who was watching his daughter with a mesmerised gaze, Draco couldn't help admire his lean body, sizzling with energy and a natural air of authority only few could command. Still on the small side, still bony, still a crows' nest for hair, but Merlin, Potter had shaped up nicely since their Hogwarts' days. When Potter had danced with his wife, Draco hadn't been able to take his eyes off his splendid arse.

Alas, Potter was straight and unreachable – at least for the likes of Draco Malfoy. He'd long admitted to the crush he'd been nursing for Potter, likely since that ominous first day at school when Draco's hand had been refused and he'd flown into a rage that had only abated years later during those days he spent in the Room of Hidden Things, despairing of an impossible task.

Bloody maudlin thoughts... and this was his only son's wedding.

Draco shifted to get more comfortable. What with the wedding feast and the huge cake buffet, his trousers were getting tight. The chair groaned dangerously underneath his weight, one of the old-fashioned party chairs that had been in the Malfoy family for ages. Mother had yielded on the issue of flowers, though, which was why the faint scent of lilies (and not Mother's beloved roses) wafted from the dance floor into the corner. For a moment Draco had to fight an overpowering sense of nostalgia, recalling the huge parties in the Manor gardens, with white roses everywhere and Father in the middle, talking quietly, seriously, everything was politics to Lucius Malfoy, and Mother always at his side... Salazar, _he_ was the father of the bridegroom now; he should be happy. Happy to see Scorpius married to the girl he loved; happy, too, for what this match meant for the Malfoy name. The Malfoys were back in the top echelon of wizarding society, no thanks to Draco (_divorced ex-Death Eater poof_) or Lucius (_unredeemed Death Eater exiled to some far-off Adriatic coast_) but to their brilliant, smooth-talking, Potter-loving heir. And why did it always seem like the younger generation was so much happier than they had ever been, even after the war?

Damn it, he needed to leave. This was quickly becoming unbearable. He got up, scanning the horizon where bonfires dotted the night, some far away, some right on top of the low range marking the estate's border. It was a special night in more ways than one, a magical night even, in honour of St John and the ancient rites of the midsummer wedding. Scorpius and Lily had chosen the date with the enthusiasm of their generation for all festivals shared by Muggles and wizarding folk.

Draco navigated around the deserted chairs towards the side of the dance floor. Underneath the swaying string of fairy lights he stopped to try and catch Scorpius's eyes. But his son was kissing the bride, oblivious to the world and to his father. Instead his best man, the younger Potter spawn, noticed Draco. He nodded at him, over the shoulder of the red-haired bloke he was dancing with (_brother, cousin, lover?_), mouthing something Draco took to mean not to worry, he would tell Scorpius his father had absconded from the festivities. With what he hoped was a gracious smile, Draco stepped away and walked towards the gardens.

It was a relief to be away from the lights. He felt old and heavy, much like on his occasional visits to the Fortress where he went in search of a man for the night. More often than not he found himself hiding in the shadows, knocking back whiskey after whiskey, watching, watching and wanting –

Useless thoughts, Draco knew. Bloody useless wanting, too. He'd had his share of lovers, Salazar, he had, and enjoyed every one of his trysts and affairs and deliciously messy back alley fucks. There had been the taste of more, sometimes, a feeling that he'd like to settle down with a lover, invite him to stay at the Manor, share more than his bed. It had always been a fleeting notion, gone the next morning or when the weekend was over. Who would want to move into Malfoy Manor with him, with Mother still running elves and house with an iron hand? With the memories of the War and... _him_ still lingering in the nooks and crannies. Who would want someone with a faded Dark Mark on their arm, and a personality like Draco's – too bitchy, too touchy, just too much trouble. Once, his looks had made up for it, his pert arse and pale smooth skin. But not anymore. He was beyond the point where looks got him anything but the half-hidden pity of the young and beautiful.

Draco stepped out from under the trees onto the wide clearing. The koi pond shimmered in the darkness. It was a balmy night, lit by a half-moon, with the fires burning bright on the hills around the Malfoy estate. Draco remembered a time when St John's Day had been an excuse for feasting on loads of food and brew, and illicit, delicious sex behind the bushes. _Gluttony and lechery_, the Muggle priest at St Magdalene had preached, denouncing the heathen rites from the pulpit.

He sat on the steps leading down towards the pond. Underneath his robes, he loosened his belt. Gluttony he'd certainly enjoyed tonight. He rubbed his stomach, taking a couple of deep breaths. From the pond, the night wind brought the fecund odours of the water plants. Draco's hand moved lower, his cock twitched at the memory of Potter, staring forlornly at his daughter. He wondered whether Potter had similar misgivings, torn between the fear of losing his child for good, and happiness for the joy she'd found. There were rumours that Potter's marriage was not all it was cracked up to be. Nothing like Draco's own dismal divorce, not that, but still: Ginny Potter was a handful, with her love of Seekers and racing brooms and her sports column in _Witch Weekly_.

He leaned back, elbows on the stone, gazing into the star-speckled sky over Wiltshire. The silence was broken by a cracking sound behind him, from the path he'd just walked. Draco turned. Did those bloody peacocks follow him into the gardens? He tried to see what was moving in the darkness. And froze mid-motion. _Potter._

It had to be him even when Draco could only make out the build of the man and his raven black hair. He was walking quickly towards him, and that's when Draco noticed the youthful spring to his steps. It was a Potter all right, but the young one, Scorpius's best friend, the one Draco never really liked because of his utterly presumptuous name. Snape would have hated, no, he would have _loathed_ to have his first name paired with Dumbledore's and attached to one of the Potter spawn. Scorpius thought the world of Albus Severus Potter, but Draco had never seen the appeal. Too friendly, somehow, too naive. And definitely looking way too much like his father.

'May I join you, sir?' Albus _Severus_ asked, standing at the side of the pond, a few yards away.

Draco waved a hand, a vague invitation to sit on the step beside him. 'Suit yourself. It's just the koi and me.'

Albus came closer; he seemed to take in the light on the water and the bonfires on the hills. After a moment longer than was strictly polite, he sat down on the step. Not too close to Draco but closer than their mere acquaintance suggested. He didn't say a word but stared silently out onto the pond. Then he drew something wrapped in a napkin from his robes and started feeding bits of it to the koi. Soon the entire school was splashing to catch whatever morsels Albus was throwing at them. Night-feeding beasts, the koi were.

Albus moved rather differently than his father. Fluidly, with the innate grace of a dancer, nothing like Harry Potter's awkward clumsiness. It was no secret that Potter's younger son was gay but for the first time Draco saw the fairy in him. The loose wrist, the subtle hints of kohl around his eyes – Draco was sharply reminded of himself at a much younger age, back before the Dark Lord. Back when he'd been still discovering what kind of gay man he might want to be. Pansy had been his constant companion, checking out blokes and exchanging blowjob techniques. Albus Potter would look spectacular in some of the gowns Draco had worn at the fabled Slytherin parties in the dungeons.

He chuckled, and Albus turned towards him. 'Are you enjoying yourself out here with the koi, sir?'

'I am,' Draco said.

'More so than at Scorpius's wedding.' It was a statement, not a question.

'I'm afraid so.' Draco rearranged his robes, a habit he'd grown into, to conceal his protruding belly underneath the folds of the cloth. It was bloody silly (useless, too) but in moments like this he was unable to stop himself. 'It's a wonderful wedding, don't get me wrong. The girl, Lily, she looks like she's stepped out of a dream. I know Scorpius is the happiest man tonight. And...' with a shrug Draco tugged at the fastenings running down his front, 'and the puddings are magnificent.'

Draco hadn't seen Albus move, but suddenly he sat so close they were almost touching.

'I saw,' Albus said, voice calm and amused. 'Three pieces of the lemon meringue pie. But you didn't finish the last.' He took Draco's hand and stilled his fiddling.

'I... I wasn't hungry anymore.' It was the oddest feeling to have his hand held so, by this young man who smelled of smoke and freshly cut grass. He was tall, this Albus Severus, taller than his father.

'Pity,' Albus said. 'Now the koi got it.' With that, he let go of Draco's hand and moved his fingers across Draco's belly, tracing its fullness with light touches.

Draco, in all honesty, was too stunned to move. He stopped breathing, half because of the sheer boldness of the boy's advances, half for fear if he drew a full breath Albus would realise just how big Draco was. Then Albus slid his other hand around Draco's neck and slowly combed his fingers through his hair. The touch sent a sharp shiver down Draco's spine.

'What do you think you're doing?' His voice was a rasp.

'I am seducing you, sir. Or trying to.' Albus's voice was close to Draco's ear, and he was gently kneading Draco's belly through the robes. 'Is it working?' he whispered.

Oh, it was working all right. Heat was accumulating in Draco's groin and he felt himself harden quickly. But this was Albus _Potter_. He was the same age as Scorpius, barely into his twenties. Outlined against the fires' shine, his body was slender, with a built that Draco would have called slight if it hadn't felt wrong when Albus was so clearly masculine, shoulders square and his hips sharp and narrow. He was beautiful; he could have anyone he wanted. Why was he bothering with an old arse like him?

'Did...' Draco had to clear his throat. His thighs were shaking with the effort to keep still and not push into Albus's touch. 'Did my son set you up to this?'

That got him a sharp pull at his hair. 'Scorp has no idea I'm here,' Albus told him. 'And you better believe me.'

'Let go of my hair. That bloody hurts.'

Albus at once dropped his hand back to Draco's neck. 'Sorry,' he mumbled, rubbing Draco's stomach more vigorously. By now, he must have a pretty good idea how little there was muscle and how much soft flab. But he was still exploring every inch of Draco's belly. 'I've wanted to touch you all evening.'

'Have you now?' Draco shifted on the steps, spreading his legs a bit to give his growing erection more room. He should tell Albus to stop his embarrassing touches, he should move away from him. But Draco was mesmerised by those fingers that were now moving along the buttons that held his robes closed. He slowly drew in another breath. It had been so long since someone touched him like this, in a summer night, with just the sky above.

'I have, yes. I do,' Albus whispered into his ear. 'Can I open your robes, Mr Malfoy? Please, let me open your robes.' His hand moved lower, button by button, until he reached Draco's groin and gently squeezed. Draco's hips thrust up, he couldn't help it. Merlin, this boy, what was he doing to him? Potter's son, too. Oh, he definitely shouldn't let Potter's son come on to him.

'I take that as a yes.' There was a satisfied smirk in Albus's voice, but his face was hidden in the shadows.

Draco turned towards him, he raised his hand and touched the boy's shoulder and chin. He moved Albus's face so the light of the bonfires fell on it – Potter's pale skin, yes, but a spattering of freckles on nose and cheeks. There was a faint scent of liquor, from the Ogden's they all had downed, toasting to the bridegroom and the bride. But Draco could detect no sign that Albus was drunk. He sat entirely still while Draco looked at him with such scrutiny. Draco wound his fingers into the boy's hair, and Albus leaned into the touch. His hand on Draco's groin was unmoving. He was waiting, Draco realised, for a word from him.

A sudden memory surfaced in Draco's mind, of Scorpius dancing with Lily, a swirl of gleaming blond, silver and auburn laughter. For a moment he thought he caught a whiff of the lilies placed around the dance floor over where the lights were. He was old enough to have fathered this boy...

'Please.' Albus moved his shoulders, a quick shrug, and his robes fell open in front. His erection was clearly outlined underneath his trousers. With the heel of his hand he rubbed lightly over Draco's cock.

It was midsummer, a night for ancient rites much like Beltane. Gifts like this should not be rejected, not whilst the fires were burning. Not when given freely and with such obvious desire.

Draco pulled Albus towards him while spreading his legs wide in invitation. Without a split second's hesitation, Albus shrugged off his robes and crouched before Draco on the steps. Hands on Draco's robes, he looked up for a last confirmation.

Draco nodded. 'Don't make me regret this.'

'Never,' Albus said with a smug tone as he knelt between Draco's legs. He was already working on the row of black jade buttons that held Draco's robes close.

Albus's fingers moved deftly but impatiently, and the last couple of buttons he ripped off when he pushed the robes out of the way. Draco barely had time to be appalled about how tightly his shirt clung to his flesh, what with all those pies rounding his stomach, for Albus yanked at the silk until it was out of the way, too, and he could shove up Draco's vest. He stopped dead at the sight of Draco's exposed flesh, staring. Heat shot through Draco but before he could cover himself, Albus's palms were on him, spread wide as if to take in the full extent of Draco's belly. His fingers were digging gently into Draco's sides, his thumbs were pushing the soft flesh up and down. Draco was breathing shallow and fast, hot with shame and, irrepressibly, intense arousal. Then Albus took a quick dip to lick hungrily at Draco's navel. Draco was so surprised he pushed his belly up, couldn't help it, really. He groaned in embarrassment when he felt it press full and awfully big into Albus's touch. Quickly, he sucked his gut back in, but Albus only chuckled.

'Don't,' he whispered, 'Let me touch you.' His hands were hot on Draco's stomach. It was the oddest of feelings, as Albus's touch became more forceful, cupping and squeezing the flesh with obvious enjoyment. Nobody had ever touched Draco like this, certainly not in the last years. The men he'd brought home had been all focused on his cock and arse, and he'd made sure to have all lights Noxed before he'd undressed. It's been a long time since anybody had seen him like this, all exposed, and certainly no one had ever worshipped his belly like this boy.

Draco told himself to enjoy it while it lasted, and Albus didn't seem to want to rush things. His hands on Draco's stomach and sides felt warm, comforting and arousing at the same time. Then his fingers slipped underneath the shoved-up vest and found Draco's nipples. They'd gone hard, from the night wind, from being aroused, and Albus was stroking them teasingly, but very gently. He couldn't know that there was a conduit running from Draco's tits to his cock. With a groan, Draco arched up against him. The next moment, his vest was pushed out of the way, and Albus's mouth was sucking at his nipple, all gentleness gone and replaced with a wet hunger. Giving in to mindless lust, Draco grabbed Albus's waist and pulled him tight. There was fire in the corner of his eyes, the boy's ragged breath on his chest, his body writhing against Draco's belly.

It quickly became all too much. Draco's swollen cock was pressing painfully against his fly. He wanted, Merlin, he _needed_ to touch in return. He put both his hands on Albus's shoulders and pushed him away. Not far, within the reach of his arms, but far enough to look him in the eyes. They were dark and shining, arousal written plainly on Albus's face. For a moment, Draco saw Potter before him, but then he was someone else. Eyebrows raised in an unfamiliar angle, lips thinner than the Golden Boy's, Albus for all the superficial resemblance with his father looked very different.

Draco leaned towards him, he caressed the soft pale skin of Albus's throat, then let his hand drop to his chest that was still covered by his dress-shirt.

'Please,' Albus moaned, tiny buttons glistening, and Draco opened them one by one. No vest, just smooth hard muscle underneath, and Draco wanted nothing more than to touch it. Gently he let his fingers slide across the boy's skin, then lower, lower, until he found his waistline and below Albus's cock. It was hot and hard, covered by wool cloth that was scratchy and damp. Saliva was gathering in Draco's mouth.

'Oh, God.' Albus rocked forward into Draco's touch. 'I want you. I wanted you all night.'

With a wordless spell Draco'd mastered in long years of practice he had Albus's fly unzipped. The boy startled but held on to Draco's sides, squeezing the rolls of flesh there, with a frantic need, it seemed. Draco shoved Albus's trousers down, his pants. His cock stood erect, thick and short, dark with arousal. Draco couldn't keep his hands from it, he just had to wrap his fingers around that firm smooth flesh, twitching and leaking precome, a glint in the moonlight. But when he started to toss Albus off for real, he trapped Draco's fist underneath his hand and made him stop.

'Not yet, not like this,' he said, his cheeks so flush with need they seemed to glow. 'Closer, I want to be closer and feel you. I want to come all over... over... over...' He let out a strangled moan and dipped down against Draco's belly, licking the exposed flesh, and taking little bites as he worked his way up. For a moment, he put his head on Draco's chest, perhaps to still his ragged panting, for he was taking two, three deep breaths. Then he looked up at Draco. 'Can I?'

Draco was unable to answer. It felt incredible to have this boy want him so much. He nodded, stroking Albus's back, as Albus climbed onto his lap. It was uncomfortable at first, with all of Albus's weight pressing down on his thighs, but then Albus straddled him, his knees on the step, and Draco could let himself go for the first time, pushing up against Albus. He marvelled at how hard he was, mere minutes into the game, and they hadn't even kissed. Then all conscious thought fled him as Albus pressed against him, his cock on fire and slick and rock-hard, rubbing against Draco's belly.

'Wanted this,' Albus moaned, 'so good, you feel so good. I wanted this for so long.'

He burrowed his face in the spattering of hair on Draco's chest. His lips found one of Draco's nipples again, and he licked it, making Draco groan. One quick sharp bite, and Draco almost cried out. Merlin, how he'd missed this, bits of pain sharpening the need that was flooding his groin in hot waves.

Albus wriggled to get out of his trousers and pants. It was an invitation Draco could not resist, the round firm arse, an expanse of smooth skin shimmering in the night, naked for him to touch. He slid his arms around Albus's slender waist and moved his fingers along his crack, dipping inside casually, a quick brush before he cupped Albus's arse cheeks and pulled him close.

Albus moaned breathlessly, his laughter rumbled against Draco's chest. 'I love this. I love how you touch me.' He slid lower, moving his tongue all over Draco's belly – he was painting wet lines there, making Draco shiver. Albus kept moving, another quick dip into Draco's navel, and Draco's balls contracted sharply. Merlin, and now the boy was tugging at Draco's fly, fiddling with belt and lacings, and he had to let go of the wonderful arse so Albus could divest Draco of his trousers, too. Their bespoke cut accommodated his girth well, but after a feast like tonight, the waistband was tight, cutting into his bulge. Albus opened the belt; he loosened the lacings with quick tugs. There was space to breathe, and Draco gulped in the air, deeply, once, twice. Albus kept touching every inch of naked skin that he bared, stroking Draco's expanding paunch, while he pushed the trousers out of the way.

Draco lifted his body off the step, and with a last tug, Albus shoved his pants down. Such sharp, sweet need shot through Draco's groin as his cock sprang free. The stone underneath him was overgrown with moss; it felt oddly arousing to have it moist and squashy against his buttocks. He'd never been a leaker but now a drop of precome pearled from his slit. When had he last felt like this, wanting so much? Wanting to feel another's touch, to give in to pleasure carelessly, without thought.

Albus was holding Draco's hip with one hand, with the other he was tracing the red lines where the waistband had cut into his flesh. He cupped Draco's belly, holding it, as if he was measuring its weight. All the while his eyes were glued to Draco's cock. Slowly he raised his head and searched Draco's face.

'Can I...' he whispered, 'can I touch it?'

Now it was Draco's turn to chuckle. 'I should be sorely disappointed if you don't,' he said and he'd never called the boy by his first name, but it was time now, bloody time, and so he added, 'Albus.'

Draco could be mistaken in the dark but a quick smile seemed to flash across Albus's face. It was at once replaced by the look of raw hunger Draco knew all too well; he'd seen it on the face of many lovers: he likely had worn it himself when he'd touched Albus just moments ago. Still, Draco would have never expected the sheer thrill of lust that shot through his body when Albus wrapped his fingers around his cock.

'Merlin,' he gritted out and again, 'Merlin,' thrusting fast before Albus had time to find a rhythm of his own. His strokes felt so different than Draco's own predictable ones, gentler, which only made him yearn for more, but so incredibly arousing.

'Good?' Albus asked.

'Harder,' Draco said, his voice harsh and commanding but he needed this so bad.

Albus complied at once, his fingers squeezing tighter, just as Draco liked it. After the fourth stroke, Albus stopped and spit into his hand, and oh yes, that was it, slick strokes with just enough friction, just the right edge of pain. Draco would come within short minutes, no matter that he was almost fifty, fat and balding, on the hard steps to his bloody koi pond, too.

'Good?' Albus asked again, amusement and arousal at war in his voice, for of course it was good, more than good, and Albus had to know it, from Draco's frantic thrusts and the ragged moans he just couldn't keep from spilling from his mouth.

'Come up, you.' Draco remembered where Albus had touched him and how desperately he'd frotted against his belly. He pulled him closer, touching his slender waist and searching for his arse again, that firm, wonderful arse. Albus's breath was on his skin as he burrowed into Draco's neck. His strokes on Draco's cock were slowed by how close they were, prick and hand squeezed in between the soft fullness of Draco's belly and Albus's hard flat stomach. A spasm went through the boy's body, he moaned against Draco's skin. He let go of Draco's cock, his entire body was pushing and pressing into Draco. Draco held him tight, he was moving against Albus's cock, a hot rod pushing into his flesh. His belly was coated by a sticky wetness; he was wrapped in the smoky scent of Albus.

They were frotting steadily now, fast thrusts of skin and cock slick with sweat and spunk. Albus's hands were clutching at Draco's shoulders, his thighs were trembling. He murmured mangled words Draco didn't have to understand to know what he was saying. _So good. Want you. Closer, closer, want, I want..._ and Albus was rubbing himself off on Draco's paunch, clawing at him with a desperation Draco had not known from any other lover.

Another vicious spasm, and Albus sped up his thrusts into Draco's belly.

'Am goin' to come,' he moaned, voice hoarse with need, spelling imminent orgasm more clearly even than the squirts of precome spilling on Draco's skin.

'Let go,' Draco whispered, 'just let it all go,' and 'Albus, Albus', loving the taste of the name on his tongue as he held the boy close and offered all he had to offer - belly and chest and hard cock for friction and whatever else Albus needed.

He felt it underneath his hands, the sharp contractions in the muscles of Albus's arse, moments before Albus threw his head back, mouth open in a strangled groan. A shudder, another deep moan, and some hidden strain snapped as he leaned backwards against Draco's arms, reaching for his own cock and tugging at it fast and rough. He came at once, and Draco couldn't help but stare as strands and strands of come splashed onto his belly.

Up in the trees, an owl hooted. Streaks of red were painting the night sky above. On Draco's lap Albus was moaning as he kept touching his spent cock. His face was bathed in sweat and moonlight – eyes almost closed to a dangerous glitter, cheek-bones sharp in the light from the fires. Such beauty, and it was Draco who brought him such pleasure. He held Albus at the small of his back. Slowly the tension left the boy's body, tongue moving over his lips as if tasting the last vestiges of his own desire. When Draco lowered his hands to cradle Albus's arse, he broke into a wide, contented smile. He slumped against Draco, trusting that he would hold him close, as he slid on come-slick skin. Looking up, he murmured, 'So good, oh God, Draco, _Draco_, so good...'

Perhaps it was the way Albus said his name, like a caress. Perhaps it was the sudden weight trapping his aching cock between Albus's thigh and his belly. But Draco felt his orgasm build rapidly, with an unknown sharpness that made his body go rigid with the need for release. Albus must have noticed it, too, for he moved against him, languid and smooth and incredibly arousing. His hands found Draco's cock again, and Draco jerked with the intensity of the touch, but thrust into it gratefully, oh so gratefully. Hot hands seemed everywhere, on his prick, on his belly, on his waist. Albus's mouth was on his nipple again, sucking lightly, first one, then the other, and Draco wanted to scream, it felt so good. Albus licked at his collarbone, placing small bites all over Draco's neck. He searched for his mouth, and that was it, this intimate touch of lips on lips – moist and sweet and melting into him like some exquisite pastry from the Manor's kitchen. Draco was never loud during sex, but now he felt harsh sounds rising from his throat. Such hunger – and he bit into Albus's lips, couldn't stop himself from ravaging this sweet mouth and sucking with such need at Albus's tongue.

'You,' he moaned around their kiss, trying to keep his voice down, to keep inside what was ripped loose from a deep place within. It made him feel wild and young, this need to spill everything, spunk and, 'you, you are, so, so –' And Hogwarts, he's back at Hogwarts, and fucking every chance he'd got, in hidden alcoves in the dungeons, in the greenhouse at the height of noon, fucking and fucking until there's nothing but sweat and spunk and spit and the whole green world's flooded by sunlight so bright, so achingly bright, and he's coming, he's –

Draco gulped in the night air, red from the fires flaring up. Shaking with the force of his orgasm, he couldn't help pushing forward, couldn't help this need to be skin-close and closer even, to this boy, to this man, as he spilled in ragged spurts. A sob rose from his throat, another one, a foreign sound within the night, and he spilled another load, felt it splash onto Albus's thigh. He was sobbing and still coming, coming hard and long like he hadn't in ages.

'Shh, shh...' Albus was kissing Draco's face, his nose, the lids of his closed eyes. 'You're gorgeous, you feel so good, it's all right, so good, so gorgeous, so...' The same words, over and over again, until Draco was all spent and panting in Albus's embrace.

Albus still held Draco's softening cock, he fondled it gently. Only when Draco put his hand on his fingers, did he stop. Draco let himself fall back against the steps where his robes were lying in a heap. Relaxation seeped into his bones. Albus moved with him, lying half on top, hand resting on Draco's belly in a way that felt oddly protective. He didn't seem to want to leave, not right away at least. Gorgeous. Draco had to smile at the misplaced compliment as he moved his hands over the boy's back, his arse, his strong thighs. There was no denying it: Albus Severus Potter was a gentle soul, much too nice for his own good. Sorted Hufflepuff, Draco remembered. Who would have thought that a Hufflepuff could make him come so hard?

He pulled Albus close and brought his lips to his mouth, as gently as he could. They kissed long and lazily, with tiny sparks of lust flittering in Draco's belly. When they came up for air, Albus gave him a curious look, mouthing those words again, _so gorgeous, so good..._

'You,' Draco said softly, 'you are not harbouring a secret crush on Scorpius, are you? For I've never been gorgeous, not like my –'

Albus's lips were on his again, crushing whatever else Draco meant to say. It was a hard, possessive kiss that made Draco gasp and arch into Albus's hand that was on his cock again, squeezing with renewed pressure. Silly words, really, when Albus would kiss him like this. He sucked at Draco's tongue before he pulled back and looked him in the face.

'Scorpius is my best friend, Mr Malfoy. But I don't want him that way.' Albus moved his fingers over the coarse hair on Draco's chest. 'I like my men to be more... mature.' His hand moved lower, cupping the bulge of Draco's belly. 'I like my men to be heavier and...' He took Draco's hand and sucked one finger into his shameless mouth, then another, to release both with a plop. 'I like men who know how to touch me. Scorpius is none of these things. Plus...' He flashed Draco a wicked smile. 'He's hopelessly straight. And believe me, it's not for lack of opportunity.'

Draco stared at his own hand. His fingers glittered with spit. He looked up, and the sparkle in Albus's eyes reminded him of nobody so much as Lily Potter (Lily _Malfoy_) twirling in Scorpius's arms. Salazar, he wanted to take this boy, right on the stony stairs to the pond, have him on his knees, pierce him open, fuck him hard. Make him his, here on the Manor grounds. The images came out of nowhere yet the need was undeniable. Draco felt it like pain, deep inside.

The wind was picking up. Or perhaps it felt like that with the fires burning low and night taking over. Albus at his side started shivering and was moving away, reaching for his clothes. Slowly Draco righted himself. His back hurt and his arse and other places. He'd be paying tomorrow for the pleasures of this fuck outdoors. Not that he regretted it. None of it. He pulled up his pants and trousers, cast a wandless cleaning spell, out of a life-long habit of wanking. When he wrapped himself into his robes he felt Albus stare at him.

'What?' he asked, buttoning up his robes. They were in a frightful state, never mind the cleaning spell. He probably should Apparate into the Manor and change, but then, the father of the bridegroom was allowed wrinkled robes on a night like this.

'Will you teach me that?' Albus stepped close and smoothed down Draco's robes. There was a warmth around him that made Draco think of mornings in bed.

'The wandless _Scourgify_? Certainly,' he said. He wanted to ask whether they would meet again, so he could teach Albus the spell and... other things. Things that two men did in bed together, after a while. When they knew each other's bodies better. When there was trust and... something more. Draco didn't say a word.

Albus trailed his knuckles over Draco's belly. 'We should go back to the wedding,' he said.

Draco nodded. Behind Albus the pond lay absolutely still. There was smoke in the air, from the bonfires dying down, one after the other. Draco wanted to bury his face in Albus's hair, but he didn't. Albus was withdrawing from him, turning for his robes that were still lying on the steps.

'You should try the pumpkin cheesecake next,' he said as he slung the robes over his shoulder. 'From the cake buffet, I mean.' He flashed Draco a smile, then walked up the steps. It was hard to remember how Draco could have ever seen Harry Potter in this tall, slender man.

'I will,' he said. His stomach lurched in a twinge of hunger at the thought of kissing Albus Potter, tasting of cinnamon and clove.

'All right then.' Albus gave a short wave, more to the pond, Draco thought, than to him, then he briskly walked towards the trees and vanished in the night.

Was there really pumpkin cheesecake at the buffet? Was this something that the kids did these days, eat pumpkin in the middle of summer?

Draco turned back to the koi and to the darkened hills. Samhain, then, he thought. He'd carve faces in pumpkins for Teddy, he'd dance with Astoria at Mother's Soiree, he'd even play apple bobbing and light a fire. And he'd wait – watching, wanting – for the boy with the scent of smoke in his hair.

_fin_


End file.
